


kill the lights

by thatssupersketch



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Artist Clarke, Bellamy Blake is a History & Mythology Nerd, F/M, Modern AU, artist! clarke, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatssupersketch/pseuds/thatssupersketch
Summary: "The paint's supposed to go where?" // Bellamy offers to help Clarke with an art project and everything goes downhill from there.





	1. Chapter 1

“The paint’s supposed to go _where_?”

Clarke huffed. “Bellamy, you said you’d help me out with this.”

He put his hands on his hips, mimicking a motion often contrived by his sister. While this action could have been derived as a bit feminine, the muscles twitching in Bellamy’s arms distracted her from even coming to that conclusion. “Clarke,” he taunted in her same whiny tone, “You didn’t say paint would be _on_ me. And in unmentionable places, nonetheless.”

She blew some hair out of her face, trying to distract from the growing blush forming on her cheekbones. “It’s art,” Clarke gestured vaguely. “You do the unthinkable. Press boundaries.”

“This certainly is unthinkable,” groaned Bellamy. “And what will O say?”

“We don’t have to tell her.”

He gave her the side eye. “We don’t?”

She stepped closer, and hesitated as Bellamy stood nearly naked in front of her. All for the sake of art, of course, she reminded herself. If she acted uneasy and unsure, he would feel the same way. Putting away her doubts (and fantasies), Clarke reached out to touch his arm, making sure to look at his face-- and only his face. “We don’t.”

Seeming placated, Bellamy let his tense shoulders drop a bit. Clarke swore internally at the fact he wasn’t bothered at all by the situation, but only what his sister would think-- and who she would tell.

“Anyway,” Clarke soldiered on. “It’s for a class project. It’s not for a gallery or anything. No one needs to know.”

“No one needs to know,” he repeated slowly, as if taking it in himself.

She nodded curtly.

Bellamy sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “Alright, where do we begin?”

To be truthful, while Clarke had thought ahead about her project, having Bellamy in front of her, ready to be painted, was an entirely different reality. Tensions were higher, and although she was very sure of her skill, him watching her while she worked just made it worse.

She placed him in front of the white backdrop, on a chair. “You’re gonna want to sit down,” she chuckled. “This might take a while.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, but did as she said. “Sure thing, princess." 

Clarke knelt in front of him, mixing her palette. “Princesses don’t get art degrees.” She didn’t make eye contact, dropping her gaze to her work.

“What do princesses do, then?”

“Princesses go to Ivy League schools and study pre-med.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Octavia did tell me you originally were going to be pre-med.”

“I was.”

“Why aren’t you? Surely you’d make more money that way. Job security, the like.”

Clarke stopped mixing. “There’s more to life than money, you know?” At his disbelieving look, she soldiered on. “It was all I knew growing up. You know this. We were old money. But my mom never really loved my dad. We may have had more money than we ever needed, but it didn’t buy a happy family,” she smiled humorlessly. “It was miserable. When my mom said she wanted me to go pre-med, I thought, “Why not?” As you said yourself, job security.

“But I knew I would just become my mom. And I want to live for something. And be passionate about something. Even if it makes me destitute,” she shook her head. “That’s probably more of my personal life than you were asking for,” she said drily. “Sorry.”

Bellamy met her eyes. “And all this time, I thought you were just an rich kid artist wannabe.” His teasing was light, but she knew from his gaze he understood and felt for her. For all the years she had known him-- all three of them-- he was the one who had understood her best since Wells. He knew when to push and when to pull back. She was always afraid he would tug a little too hard on her heartstrings, and she’d be in a conundrum. It hadn’t happened yet, but the emotional tension at least broke some of the sexual tension Clarke was feeling.

She had been around dozens and dozens of nude male models, and felt nothing. Bellamy wasn’t even naked, just wearing shorts. Maybe it was the heat of the San Francisco day just getting to her, but part of her wanted this studio session to be over right this instant, and part of her wanted it to never end. 

Clarke thwacked him with her paintbrush. “I’m not a wannabe. Just wait until this project is finished.” She held up her hands as if to frame Bellamy’s face. “You’re going to be a masterpiece.”

“What’re you gonna do, connect-the-freckles?” he chuckled. “You have many to work with.”

She tapped her chin, as if to consider it. “That might work…” 

“Really?”

“No.”

Bellamy sighed loudly. “Where is my input? I didn’t sign up for this.”

She laughed. “First off, Bell, you’re a model, not a diva. Second, you totally did.Here, now hold still.” Clarke gripped her palette in her left hand, and paintbrush in the other. “This might be cold.”

He winced a little as the paintbrush touched his skin, but relaxed as he got used to the cool temperature of the paint. “What even are you painting on me?”

“Do you not want it to be a surprise?” she teased. 

“I’ve never liked surprises,” he said in a low voice. “And I am generally curious. I do feel you owe that to me. Considering my body is currently on loan to you,” he said dramatically. 

She sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine.” His mouth quirked up at the corner, hiding a smile.

“It’s not what I’m painting on you,” Clarke explained, “It’s that I’m painting you. It’s not patterns or some scenery, but….”

“You’re painting me. On me.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, relieved at not having to again describe the ridiculous concept. Some things truly did work better as art and not as words. “In a sort of abstract form. I’ll pose you and take some pictures and use those for my project.”

“Wow,” Bellamy said in an awed voice. “I never would have thought of that.”

“The tuition I’m paying forces me to think like that.”

He chuckled. “You know, Clarke…”

“What?”

“I know I teased you earlier, about being a wannabe, but I know you’re very talented.” 

She smiled slightly, concentrating on painting his chest, not wanting him to see her red face. “Oh, do you now?”

“Octavia talks about it all the time. And she’s come home with doodles of yours. There’s an assortment of your post-it notes on your wall. And,” he continued slowly. “I may have seen I popped up a few times.”

Clarke froze, only barely pulling the paintbrush away before it managed to drip on the already painted portion of his chest. Her chest felt constricted. What had he seen? Surely he hadn’t seen anything in her sketchbook. She hadn’t even let Octavia peek in there. “Oh?”

“Yeah, in the doodles. I play the role of a grumpy older brother well, dontcha think?” Catching her slightly relieved exhale, he narrowed his eyes. “Have you drawn me other than that, Clarke?”

“Maybe,” she said defensively. “But I draw everyone. Ask Octavia."

“You still got embarrassed when I mentioned your drawings of me, and you wouldn’t have done when I mentioned your drawings of O.” His lips drew up into a sly grin. “What are you hiding, Griffin?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually.”

“I may have drawn you a few times,” she admitted. “But it’s not weird. It’s mean of you to tease me about this when we’re in this compromising position.”

“Compromising position, huh? Do I make you nervous?” 

“Yeah, that I might stab you in the eye with my paintbrush if you don’t stop.” 

“Okay, okay,” he said amiably. “I bow to the princess.”

“I’m not a princess,” Clarke grumbled.

“Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“If I could paint, I’d paint you as a princess. Crown and getup and all.”

“Shut up and hold still.”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sassy bell is sassy.

Suprisingly enough, Bellamy didn’t give her much grief throughout the process. He did as he was told, with some snark, of course, but it was Bellamy—overall, she felt respected. She had never really felt like any of her friends back home had respected her choice in career. It was the talk of the town how Clarke had refused to follow in her mother’s footsteps to become a doctor, and didn’t even choose a respectable position. The stares and whispers she received all summer made her all the more ready to leave for college and be done with it. At least not everyone knew her here.

But Bellamy did as she asked and was genuinely curious about the art she was creating. It gave Clarke little flutters, but she pushed them as deep down into her stomach as she could make them go.

As she finished up painting, she pulled out her camera. “Ready for the fun part?”

“Griffin, you know I’m always ready for the fun part,” he lifted his eyebrow, corner of his mouth quirking into a slight grin. “But I am surprised the “painting me while I’m naked” isn’t the fun part.”

“Stop making faces!” Clarke protested. “You’ll make the paint crack!”

“Okay, okay.”

“Thank you. Such a handful, Blake.”

“Models have to be divas. It’s in our nature.”

This time it was Clarke’s turn to fight a grin. “I’m sure. I’ve worked with your sister enough times to pick that up,” she said wryly.

“I’d defend her, but that is absolutely true. No point in denying it.”

“But you do both make great models.” And it was true. There was no fuss as Clarke stepped back and forth from posing him and leaning back to take snapshots. From what she was seeing, the project would turn out even better than she anticipated, as long as she got the flow of the pictures in the gallery correct. The lighting would be crucial as well, but she could figure that out later.

“All right, I think that’s enough,” Clarke wiped her hands on her smock, leaving her camera dangling by the strap around her neck. “Time to get you cleaned up.”

She handed him a handful of wipes, gesturing towards the bathroom.

“Coming with?”

Clarke rolled her eyes at him. “So someone can accidentally walk in on me wiping you down and have a rumor about me infiltrate the art majors? I have an aloof reputation I need to uphold, you know.”

“Well, you did make this mess…” Bellamy teased.

“Rumors…that get back to Octavia…about where you were tonight…”

“Alright, alright. I’ll be back.”

Clarke laughed as Bellamy finally made his way to the bathroom. His sister really was his motivator. There were several reasons he didn’t want her to find out about tonight. (1) Bellamy was constantly harping on her life choices that tended to become gossip. He was trying to be a “good example.” (2) Bellamy also had a reputation of his own to uphold. He was an RA. Not only did he try to be a good example to O, but also to his floor. If Octavia heard about this, she would certainly tell her friends and the story would be messed up the more people were told. (3) Most importantly, Octavia was notorious for trying to set Bellamy and Clarke up since day one.

The first time Clarke met Octavia, she was modeling in a studio. The girl had grace and a beauty that seemed to exude from her, and she was sure she had seen her before. Clarke had never really cared about getting to know any of the models before, but she approached her after class. Turns out they had art history together, and Clarke and Octavia became “study buddies” after that. This meaning they would get together while Clarke would study, and Octavia would observe the cute boys that came into the coffee shop.

“That one’s dreamy,” she would say. “Just look at his broad shoulders. I wonder if he’s single? Do you think I could get him to come over here?” Clarke would just laugh, amused at her antics but much more focused on her textbook.

One day, Clarke wasn’t really in the mood to study, so she decided to play Octavia’s game. “Look at that one—curly dark hair. And freckles!” She put her chin in her hand. “Okay, I see why you play this game.”

While Octavia did go talk to some boys and some boys did approach their booth, it was never usually this fast. The tall, curly headed boy was making a beeline to their table.

“Octavia!” Clarke hissed. “What did you do?”

Before she could answer, he was at their table, his inquisitive eyes giving Clarke a once over.

“Clarke, this is Bellamy.” She raised an eyebrow. “My brother.”

She turned to Bellamy. “Clarke is a nerd, too. You guys should talk about history together so I don’t have to listen to her drone on and on about Greek architecture.”

“Happy to oblige,” he had said, pulling out a chair and winked at her. “Anything to spare Octavia.”

Technically, the last reason he didn’t want Octavia to find out was her fault. If she had just kept her mouth shut, she wouldn’t have constantly been thrown at Bellamy and they may have come together on their own. Clarke was certain Bellamy wouldn’t date her just because Octavia has “picked” her out for him. It was disappointing, but it was reality. Bellamy may have done anything for his sister, but she was also the biggest rival as well as influence in his life. Clarke respected that and didn’t compete with it, even though she really, really wanted to.

However, this did lead to Bellamy and Clarke hanging around each other a lot more, because they actually did have a lot in common. He was just easy to be around, and if Clarke ever needed to have a verbal sparring match with, he was her guy. But that was the only way he was her guy, and she had to be thankful to keep it at that.

“Clarke?” Bellamy called, startling her out of her reverie. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she said in a daze, drawing herself back to the present. “Wanna order pizza. My treat.”

“Is this my payment for modelling?”

“Possibly.”

“Good. Pepperoni and we’ve got a deal.”

“Sold.”

\---

**Author's Note:**

> it's been SO LONG yikes.


End file.
